Hell's Lovely
by Sulkie Wolfen
Summary: Fearing that he will be found out for his murder of Mufasa, Scar returns to the Pridelands with Simba. AU, obviously. DISCONTINUED.
1. Death

**HELL'S LOVELY**

An idea addressed by many is the thought of what would happen if Mufasa survived the stampede. That's great and all, but I have a new idea... what if Scar didn't use the guilt trip on Simba out of fear he would find out the truth, thusly Simba returned to the pridelands with the murderous brute?

Some general notices; well, of course, "The Lion King," is not of my property and this fic was produced without rightful permission of Disney... but I'm sure ff . net has permission, aye? Hrm. At any rate, also... realize that I age the characters, mine and Disney's, in human years. This meaning that if a character were fourteen years old, that would be about as old as a fourteen-year-old human. People have bugged me about this before, so I thought I might make it clear to you. Another reminder — this takes place in Africa, so the seasons are opposite of my northern hemisphere buddies :)

On another note; I GOT A DIVIDER! Aren't y'all proud of me? Now you can tell when I'm switching "scenes!" Ain't that terrific? -Purr- Yehh whatever.

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The air surrounding was cluttered with dust. Its hue was that of smokewash'd, a sickly yellow tint accenting it. At this, the sense of sight went wild locating landmark objects; some of those being dead trees, gorge walls, lone wildebeests, and a large golden heap at the base of a partially fallen tree.

Coughing, blinking rapidly, a small blur of golden made his way about the dull and darkened gorge. He was quite frightened, and slightly agitated, as he was in quite the hurry about the place yet could not find his way. Fear, however, was his main component. Pelt lay flat against his form, eyes large with terror. He roamed his small area, almost desperately, for long. More fearful by the second, he repeatedly called, "Dad!"

He was a lion cub, one of royalty, called Simba. His uncle Scar had taken him to the gorge, saying his father had a surprise to show Simba. He coaxed Simba to stay on a small rock in the gorge, and went off, apparently to find Mufasa. However, a stampede started and Simba was left defenseless among the bolting wildebeests.

Though he had no idea how it had happened, the terror-stricken lion had seen his father plummeting from high above directly into the wildebeest stampede and against the ground, a seemingly endless fall... and then he'd lost track of the grand lion.

Now he struggled about in the dark, in panic at what may have become of Mufasa. A wildebeest bolted by, to which he cringed. The animal cleared the dust surrounding a dead tree.

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The next few minutes, hours, days went by so quickly for Simba. Mufasa was dead. Sarabi and Scar took over kingly duties, and his training intensified. Next thing the frightened cub knew, he was being snuggled in Sarabi's arms, the third night after his father's death. Until then, the young lion had felt trapped in nothingness, he had heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing, But for some reason in this moment he snapped back to reality. He knew everything that had happened, perhaps better than any other, even though most of the time he had been trapped in his nothing world.

It was still evening, not yet night as darkness had not swallowed the heavens into its wrath, and so Simba scrambled from his mother's arms and walked, almost robot-ishly, toward two lionesses. One was a cream color, very dainty and smiling warmly as she held the other engulfed within her. The other was much smaller, young, a cub, and was a near replica of the larger. She was squeezed toward the other, eyes closed and the same smile as held the former. The older was Sarafina, the younger her daughter Nala.

"Hey Nala," said Simba. It was a phrase he'd been saying since he could talk, and so the tone matched perfectly with what it would've been before Mufasa's death. He didn't want the loss to appear to bother him... much as it did.

"Hi Simba," replied Nala, orbs parting and her smile growing to a grin.

"Uhm... hi." Simba shifted his weight uncomfortably, hoping Nala could grasp what he wanted of her.

"Oh," uttered Nala, apparently receiving just what Simba had hoped for. "Ah, Mom? Can I go with Simba here?"

Sarafina shifted her gaze to the two cubs. Noticing the pleading on Simba's features, she nodded gracefully and set her daughter free from her nearly voracious motherly grasp.

Nala looked toward Simba, expecting the usual; a grin, a bound, and a shriek of, "YES!" Simba looked toward Nala as well, as though asking whether to take such measures. Nala nodded apprehensively, and, though rather late, Simba made an attempt to do just that. Clearly, his attempt to remain as usual had failed.

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However, receiving an invitation to do such by Nala, he ran after his best friend as they bounded to a haven of theirs concerning a cluster of rocks and trees. Reaching this place of mention, the two sat upon a rock sheltered by the shade of a tree above. Both felt awkward, and they simply gave half-hearted giggles and sincere smiles to each other.

Finally Nala spoke. "So uhm... how are you taking it?"

"What?" Simba responded, though he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"You know..." Nala did not wish to make her response sound offensive in the least, and the very concept filled her with fear. "I'm sure you know what I'm talking about?"

Simba drooped. "Say it," he commanded of his companion.

Giving a sigh and regaining her half-hearted smile, Nala continued. "You know..." she felt so hesitant to blurt it. "Mufasa's death." Perhaps her response was several notches quieter and more quickly than she had intended.

"Oh," said Simba dryly, "yeah, that..."

"So, how are you taking it?"

"Ok," the young lion lied, "I - I'm fine, really."

Nala wasn't convinced. She moved several inches closer to her friend, pulling his head to face her and giving him a concerned look. "Sure?" she asked.

The golden-furred one gave yet another sigh. "Yeah," he nodded, then more quietly, "I guess."

Nala caught his final remark, "you guess?" she asked with a half-hearted chuckle. "Simba, it's fine, you don't have to be taking it well..."

"Yes I do," Simba said, rather immediately. "I'm nearly twelve years old... I don't need to be an immature cry cub."

This time, Nala's giggle was real, though brief and feeble. "Simba... it's called _death. _This isn't a normal time... you don't need to remember about being twelve years old and all that. You just lost your father."

"I'm so sick of everyone giving me so much sympathy and stuff! I don't want it, I'm fine, ok? I'm strong, I'm the willing and able future King of the Pridelands! I'm not a softy!" Simba's features were wrinkled, and his expression foul by now. He was creased by anger.

Nala stood now, making her appear taller and more able than Simba. "I was just trying to help, so cool it!"

"Cool it?" Simba mocked, "one moment you tell me I can be as upset as I want and now you want me to _cool it_?" He was standing as well by now.

"Hey, chill, ok? This is getting ugly fast."

Simba sighed, lowering haunches to sit, and stared toward the terra below. Yes, Nala was right, but... he couldn't help it. It was like he hadn't the energy to be kind, only to be nasty. He felt impatient, and exhausted, and overly heated (the weather was quite foul as it was approaching January). So many times in the last few days he had held back tears... and now because of this cranium had begun to pain him, for he knew not how much longer he could hold it all in. What a foul feeling... unlike any he'd ever witnessed before. Like Nala said, it was probably called "death."

"I know, Nala... I'm kind of scared, and sad right now, as in, I don't know what I should do. I've never felt this way before — and it's awful and I hate it!"

Nala gave Simba a playful nudge, making sure to knock him from the rock. Before he could arise from his fetal position against the ground below, Nala leapt upon him, pinning the young lion. A smile... one weak, but most certainly real, had crept its way onto her maw.

"Hey, it's ok. We're all kind of sad right now, Simba, this is a really hard time for us," she reminded her friend, "but you know what? I think you're handling it beautifully."

Simba didn't look convinced. A frown was still etched upon his features. "You think so?" he said, a spark of hope accenting his tones.

"You bet I do! It's only natural for us to be sad, Simba... but hey, we all have different ways of handling it. Yours is real sophisticated like, trying to keep it to yourself... and hey, I think that's a whole lot more courageous than crying continuously. I mean, I want to be sad and all but," she paused, grinning now, "life goes on."

"I don't need a lecture," said Simba irritably, pulling from Nala's grasp and beginning to walk away, "I already know you're smarter than me."

Nala frowned, watching Simba turn off. "Well, that wasn't how I intended it but —" and she sighed, deeming it useless and hanging her cranium.


	2. The Burning

**HELL'S LOVELY - Chapter II**

Hello! Should I be updating this more quickly, less quickly? Is this a good time for y'guys to wait? Lol. Tell meh in de reviews.

Ah... I see we have some new people! One complimenting, the other insulting. Well, let me clear something for y'guys -

A lot of people review and read other peoples' fics so that they can get reviews themselves. One thing; it doesn't do any good with sulkenwolfpup. You don't do that to sulkenwolfpup, as all my reviewers have probably noticed. So if you want to review me, do it because I'm good, not because you want attention. Just clearing that up, in case anyone out there was... you know.

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_The gorge. No... but for some reason, he seemed to associate his placing with the gorge of his father's death. Dark, translucent figures with orbs of red darted about the area. He knew he was dreaming, because it was something that'd happened before in life... and the past never repeats itself, right? But something, yes, definitely something was wrong with this dream. Wildebeests? Ah, yes, that must have been what the dark shapes were. For some reason he was watching them from far, quite far above... even more-so than in the original stampede. Why...? Hrm, he guessed it mattered not. The dream would, naturally, be tweaked._

_Even though he could see the translucent wildebeests below, his eyes were fixed on something different... his uncle Scar, standing in front of him. He appeared translucent as well, and with a lighter nose in addition. His expression shone with only hatred... seemed that was the only emotion emitted from his uncle. But, for some reason, he did not seem at all powerful to the golden one before him. He seemed... almost small. Several inches below him._

_The both of them seemed to be moving backward, and this for some reason filled him with fear. The young lion had mastered walking backward long before... why was he so afraid now? All he knew was the further back he went, the warmer the air became... and the more sweat poured down his form. Finally, he felt his hind stalk slip... before he knew it he was hanging! Obviously the dream had been tweaked quite a lot!_

_Hanging on only with his paws now, he struggled to climb atop the peak of... Pride Rock? Yes, it was Pride Rock, wasn't it... well that's odd, the stampede had taken place in a gorge, not below Pride Rock..._

_Below Pride Rock! Stealing a glance down... but there were no longer wildebeests... only fire. Not as though he was complaining about the lack of danger... fire was no less dangerous! In a moment of panic, his jaw dropped open... not caring to close it, he turned back to face his uncle. Planted upon the lion of mention's maw was a smirk... one that seemed so devoted to everything that was happening. The gleam of villainy was still wormed into his expression, particularly reflected in his eyes... eyebrows furrowed and eyes slitted, sinister with there fully open, and yet squashed against the bags below appearance._

_The younger could only hang there... hoping that by some miracle he would be saved. Feeling himself slip more, panic filled the lion... death was to be upon him... but — ach, no, still there. Argh! That feeling, that was called _pain. _Glimpsing the area before him, he made out Scar, now only inches from him, claws dug into that of mention's paws. It seemed every moment the younger made any move whatsoever, Scar's claws dug deeper. Finally blood was drawn.. by now, the pain was horrific. Why was his uncle doing this? And furthermore — what was he doing in the first place?_

_'Ah, now this looks familiar...' came the voice of the older. 'Where have I seen this before... — lemme think hrm...'_

_IDIOT! DARNET LEGGO! YOU'RE HURTING ME — DON'T WASTE MY TIME JUST THROW ME DANGIT!_

_'Oh yes, I remember,' Scar continued with a smirk. 'This is just the way your father looked before he died.'_

_DON'T BRING HIM UP YOU HUSSI JUST THROW ME FOR AIHEU'S SAKE!_

_'And here's my little secret... ‚—————"_

_WHAT? WHADDID 'E SAY? DID YOU HEAR HIM? AWW DANGIT WHADDID 'E SAY!_

_Well, emotions took over from there. What did he say anyway? Ah well, it mattered not because now he was on top of the fiend... hrm, I wonder why... wait a minute DON'T DISCONNECT ME YOU IDIOT GET OUTTA HERE WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO —_

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Awakening, Simba was suddenly jolted back to reality. What a strange dream that was!

He lowered cranium, attempting to return to slumber. However, such proved to be impossible. Much as he tried to fall asleep, he lay awake, tossing and turning. After a moment or so, he began to feel as though he were being watched. Out of fear, his head snapped toward direction of the entrance. Yes, he was being watched. The tall figure of his uncle stood, eyes glimmering in the light, like little green fires ignited with insanity. Although they drew fear into Simba's own eyes, he was determined to continue to stare fixedly at his uncle.

Scar was the first to speak.

"What are you doing up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep," said Simba, "What are _you _doing in such a feat?"

"Business," made Scar's edgy reply, as he departed the cave and turned. His walk, although sly as ever, was edged with a slight limp. Simba, though he knew well how rude it was to wonder such things, couldn't help letting his mind slide to what might have been the cause of his uncle's strange walking pattern.

"Uncle Scar, wait!" Simba pleaded, taking off after his uncle. "Where are you going?" It was a foolish question, yet the first he could think of.

Scar eyed him fixedly, glaring with a tint of suspicion. "I am going to my home at the back of Pride Rock..." he responded through gritted teeth. "And you are not to follow."

Simba did not appear convinced. Sitting upon lanky haunches, he gave his uncle a dull expression, appearing unimpressed. "Why not?"

"I am fatigued, I am wounded... I do not need your company to darken my mood further."

"Wounded?" Simba repeated, "how? What were you doing, uncle Scar?" — noticing Scar's glare and obvious refusal to reply — "Come on, you can tell _me_!"

"Indeed not, in fact you would be the one I'd be least inclined to tell."

Slyly drawing his form further along — yet, indeed, limping — Scar slunk off.

Well, certainly enough to sleep on.


	3. A Break From Dealing

**HELL'S LOVELY**

As a reminder, as I said last chapter- don't review me if you want me to review you. Doesn't work- I'm waaay too lazy to take the time to read everyone's fics. I'm just irresponsible that way XP

Speaking of responsibility however, get a load of it guys- I updated Hell's Lovely! It's been months... -cough-

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Come daylight, cheer seemed to be once again spread about the Pridelands. Lionesses basked, others hunted, others played... the concept of "normal" seemed to be one again in the lands of the late Mufasa.

However, the dead king's son's thoughts were not those of breakfast choice or whom to play with that day... they were on the actions of his uncle the night before. Where had he been? Did he do this often, go out in the middle of the night and come back with such a snappy hang to him? What a wonder this was...

Perhaps he would go see Scar.

—

The way to his uncle's abode was not a hard or complicated one, simply a venture to the rear of Pride Rock. Reaching the home of Scar, Simba tentatively rounded a final corner to be in immediate eyesight of Scar were he looking Simba's way. However, the darkened lion's optics were not tinted to Simba's direction... his entire form faced the opposite way. Shallow breaths told Simba that Scar was asleep. Well, nothing suspicious so far... it was early day, not to mention Scar slept most of the day, so that was normal...

But why did he sleep all day? As far as Simba knew, it wasn't quite possible to sleep THAT much in the life of Scar... so he must be almost nocturnal? What an odd thought that was...

Now the golden one became frightened. What would his uncle's reaction be if he were to awaken during Simba's examination? Would Simba be punished? Was it worth the risk?

Of course it was.

Scar could be up to something very dangerous... it was more important he protect his life than his reputation, right?

So he crept silently toward Scar, trembling slightly and eyes large with fear. Reaching Scar and rounding him to face his front, Simba sat upon haunches in order to begin observation. Yes, indeed, the scarred one was asleep.

As he watched the shallow breaths of his uncle, Simba couldn't help but give a laugh. The way Scar slept was so contrary to the way he acted when awake... For while he was asleep he had paws daintily crossed not far from his face, his form lay gently across the rock... None of him looked in the slightest bit frightening or menacing. The scarred one's young nephew almost wished he could see his uncle like this during his waking hours! Shaking his head playfully, though, he dismissed the thought.

What to do now? There was nothing to glimpse whilst Scar was asleep... but if he woke him, there was that chance that he could be punished. The young lion knew that if his father knew he had awoken Scar, he would not be pleased... for Mufasa had taught Simba how rude it was to wake another. However, he thought, this could be important! Besides, no one but Scar would know... and with Mufasa dead, he'd have no one to tell but Sarabi. And Simba new Scar would not scold Simba to Sarabi's face... He wasn't sure why, but Scar seemed to have a sort of respect for Sarabi and wish not to bother her... Simba now felt that he could get away with anything when around Scar, for his uncle would not tell Sarabi.

Deciding upon this approach, he crept to the backside of uncle Scar once more. Very gently, he placed one paw upon the dark form, and soon another. Associatively, his whole body was soon on top of Scar's. Lowering to a sit and then further down so that he did not support himself with his legs, he pulled himself along Scar's body. When he reached the top of his mane, almost to the darker lion's face, he paused. Pulling his paws about Scar's ear, he lowered his mouth and nipped at his uncle for several seconds. When this did not wake him, he nipped harder and eventually chewed. Simba knew from experience that this technique would always work.

Sure enough, after a time Scar awoke. When he found his nephew to be chewing at him, he lowly growled and less-than-gently threw Simba off. Simba landed with a small splat and gently complained at his uncle's antics.

"What did you do that for?" asked Simba, furrowing his eyebrows mock-angrily.

After Scar had shook his mane several times and ascended his paws, he replied. "You were..." he paused, in an almost pathetic way, "biting me."

Simba only laughed. "So what? I do it all the time!"

"Simba..." Scar's voice was cross now. "Times have changed, and I'm sure you of all people are one to notice that."

The younger lion greeted this with a nod. "Yeah," he said, "and?"

"_And,_" Scar mocked, "you are to treat me with more respect than you would've under Mufasa's reign!"

"Why?" asked Simba, "you're not the King."

"Well neither are you!" snapped Scar, "neither of us is. We do not _have _a King, Simba, and that is a problem. Thusly, you are to treat me with respect because, since I am older, I naturally am of more importance."

Simba lowered to sit upon his haunches and frowned. "But I'm heir to the throne, so shouldn't I be higher than you?"

Scar stuttered a bit before replying, "No," he shifted his weight and continued, "You are not fit to be King, and thusly you are not. You have sank in position since Mufasa's fall and I have risen. I have spoken to Sarabi since Mufasa's death, and she agrees."

And with that, off walked Scar- and he still appeared to be limping.

Not pleased, Simba bounded after his uncle. "Uncle Scar, why are you limping?"

Scar only sighed and rolled his eyes, before wincing slightly in apparent pain. "Never you mind," he finally said, slumping from his lair.

Lowering to his paws, Simba paused and pouted slightly. That was just swell. Not only had the cub not been able to pry any information from his uncle, but he had managed to be disheartened and insulted in the process. Oh yeah- pure genius.

—

Later that day, Simba found himself casually strolling through the kingdom that would one day be his own. He'd spent plenty of time wondering- about Scar's whereabouts, and about what his mother would say if he asked to play with Nala- and plenty of time despairing- about his father's death and his own recent demotion. And after a while this had all gotten entirely boring. So for the past few minutes he'd lowered himself to doing nothing but strolling in an entirely aimless fashion.

Raising his gaze to the heavens, he observed their darkening features and decided to head back to his family's cave-like dwelling. Once there, he turned a glance to his mother, who sat in a corner looking miserable. Understanding, he sighed and, fidgeting uncomfortably, made his way to the opposite corner of the dwelling from Sarabi. His mother was dealing. Dealing with Mufasa's death, and dealing with her fear regarding the future of the pride.

Simba didn't want to deal. He didn't want to despair, or worry, or think about his father's recent descent at all. The young cub was taking a break from dealing. So he uncomfortably pulled himself as close to the wall as he could, facing said wall and closing his eyes. Sighing in boredom and frustration, he surrendered to a sleepless night and began to wait for the next morning to come.


End file.
